


Bit Like Home

by sartiebodyshots



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 16:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16538246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sartiebodyshots/pseuds/sartiebodyshots
Summary: Arcade is back in Freeside after traipsing around the desert with August and co, only to find that the King hasn't quite behaved.





	Bit Like Home

When Arcade arrives back in Freeside from whatever wild adventure August takes him on, his first stop is always the Old Mormon Fort.  He likes to stop in to drop his stuff off, along with whatever crap August has him carrying. (How does one woman collect so much  _ junk _ ?)

His second stop, however, comes right away, and it’s the King’s School of Impersonation.  It's where he spends most of his time in Freeside these days, for obvious reasons. 

“He's upstairs,” Pacer says by way of greeting.  

“Thanks,” Arcade says.

Arcade takes the stairs two at a time.  He's been gone for longer than expected, and he’s missed being here.  While he nods at all the Kings he passes, they don’t try to stop him to chat; they’re a perceptive bunch.

The door to the King’s room is open, so Arcade just raps on the doorframe to announce his presence.  When Arcade sees him, though, he frowns, crossing his arms.

“What happened?” Arcade asks.

The King half shrugs; his other arm is immobilized in a sling, which is the source of Arcade’s ire.  It looks homemade. 

“Nothing to worry about, babe,” the King soothes, crossing the space between them.  He wraps his good arm around Arcade and guides him to the bed. His warmth is comforting, even if Arcade continues to frown.  “Just got in a tussle with some drunk NCR folks who didn’t have much sense. I’m fine.”

“And did you get this looked at by an actual doctor?” Arcade asks.  

“I was waiting for your tender touch,” the King says with a wink.

It’s very hard to maintain his irritated composure when the King is giving him those big, innocent eyes.  Terrible.

Arcade gets up and crosses to the King’s other side.  Moving carefully, he removes the sling and eases his shirt off.  His shoulder is still swelled up and red, and Arcade’s frown returns in full force.

“How often have you been icing your shoulder?” Arcade asks when he’s done.

“Well, you see Arcade, ice is a bit difficult to come by, this being a desert and all,” the King says, giving him that sweet look to try to soften him up again.

“You have ice at the bar.  You  _ know _ that.  It’s  _ your  _ bar,” Arcade says, getting to his feet.  “Wait here.”

The King is still sitting pretty on the bed when Arcade comes back with a bunch of ice wrapped in a towel.  He settles back on the bed beside the King, pressing the ice against his shoulder. 

Arcade is careful to avoid his gaze, which means staring at the soft lines of the King’s body.  He’s soft and close and leaning against Arcade a bit more than is strictly necessary. Probably not an accident, now that Arcade thinks about it.

“Thank you for taking care of me,  _ Doctor Gannon _ ,” the King says in a low voice.

Arcade chances a look up at him.  He’s a bit blurry over the rims of his glasses, but close enough that Arcade can feel his breath on his face.  It’s difficult to suppress his smile, so he doesn’t really try.

“Unfortunately for you, King, you’ve got to wait a while before returning to full physical activity.  You’ve got to take it nice and easy,” Arcade says. 

The King hums softly.  He leans forward, cupping Arcade’s cheek in one lightly calloused hand.  

Kissing the King always makes Arcade feel rooted in place.  It was alarming for Arcade at first, given his past, but he’s settled into it nicely now.  Between Julie, August, and his other friends, and the King, Arcade feels more secure than he has in a long, long time.  

“I missed you,” the King says when they pull apart, hand still pressed against his cheek.

“I missed you, too,” Arcade says, “but you need to take care of yourself when I’m gone.”

“And who’s taking care of you when you’re out in the wasteland?” the King points out.  “August and Veronica are great gals, but they’re no medics. I worry, too.”

Arcade sighs; the King is so dang perceptive.  He continues icing the King’s shoulder in silence.  The ice starts to melt, condensation sliding down the King’s skin and drawing Arcade’s eye back to his the curve of his back.

“How long do you think you’ll be here this time?” the King asks eventually.

“Who knows with August?” Arcade says.  The woman doesn’t understand the concept of planning ahead, not really.  “Possibly a week. Maybe a little longer.”

“And I have to stay on nice and easy physical activity the whole time?” the King asks.  “Are you sure?”

Arcade ducks his head, setting the ice aside.  He’s sure it’s iced enough for now, but they’ll have to do it again in a couple hours, if he remembers his first aid.  

Instead of answering, Arcade slides the sling back onto the King’s arm.  He secures it with care, fingers brushing over the King’s neck. 

“I’m sure,” Arcade says, pressing a kiss to the King’s cheek.  “Doctor’s orders.”

“Well, whatever the good doctor wants, the good doctor gets,” the King says.  

“Except for you to go to the doctor when you actually get injured,” Arcade points out.  

The King chuckles and brushes his fingers across Arcade’s cheek.  “I’ll do better.”

“I appreciate that, and I’ll try to, uh, hm…” Arcade trails off, not really sure how to promise that August and Veronica won’t let him get too badly injured.  “You know. Live.”

The King laughs again, pressing his lips to Arcade’s cheek before leaning back on the bed.  He pats the empty space beside him, and Arcade follows after, settling in the crook of his good arm.

He’s warm, and Arcade is weary from his time on the road.  His eyes slide part way closed as he leans against bare skin.  

“Just be careful,” the King says, voice as low and syrupy as the thumb drawing circles against Arcade’s arm.  “Goodnight, Arcade.”

Arcade nods because he can do that.  He can relax into the King’s arms, lean against him and let his eyes slide closed.  

He’s been a careful man for a long, long time.  It’s not like he’s had a choice, always living with his foot out the door.  Now, he has roots, which seems the opposite of careful, but he’s too sleepy to properly articulate that.

Arcade murmurs some vague apology for the things he won’t be able to do before falling asleep, safe and content.  


End file.
